


me and you and maybe

by Amizore



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28631325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amizore/pseuds/Amizore
Summary: I love it when you write for me, because I’m selfish. If this was a story, you’d be my antagonist, and I’d be yours, forever trying to chase down the unreachable macguffin. When really, the macguffin is just a secretive snot fairy spy, trying to conspire a tantalizing epic about the two of us. anyway <3
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	me and you and maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thewinifred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewinifred/gifts).



> I love it when you write for me, because I’m selfish. If this was a story, you’d be my antagonist, and I’d be yours, forever trying to chase down the unreachable macguffin. When really, the macguffin is just a secretive snot fairy spy, trying to conspire a tantalizing epic about the two of us. anyway <3

The lament of an unsighted budgerigar plays in the background of your life. 

Your fingers are wrapped tightly into a shivering fist as you make your way up the meandering pathway of the mountain. Your green rain boots are more of a hindrance than a help - the boots slip and struggle for hold on the cobblestone path - one that you’d frequented when you had still lived in this town. Perhaps you should have worn cleats instead.  
The pavilion on top of the mountain is empty, and there is a wave of sadness that cries out deep within your chest. Ten years ago, the spaces of this mountain were filled with the sounds of laughter among the villagers. Now, everyone had moved out. This little village didn’t have any splendour to offer, no fancy theatres nor billboards like they had out in the city. Many crossed over the oceans to bigger and better lands. Foreign lands. You too, had been one of those starry-eyed children who wanted to chase after things that seemed to be larger than life. 

After setting off into the universe all those years ago, you were finally home. 

The air was dense up here, the chaparral of moss paints the boulders. Ketchup stains. The white mist blurs the sun’s light, and your down jacket tries to swallow down the little heat it has left. 

There! 

Up ahead was the old shack that used to serve as your secret hideout. The sign on the door is worn, the black ink that adorned it had long faded. Once, the sign had read, ‘Leaf Shelter.’ During the autumn days, you and your friends had tried to collect enough leaves in hopes of shrouding the shack. The leaves were never enough, and there was always the wind, the rain, and the animals that would wash them away. The leaf shelter could never properly be a leaf shelter.

It takes several tries before the door is pushed open. Particles of dust seep through the cracks of the shack, and cobwebs cover the surface of the tables and chairs. Wooden tops and toy cars are scattered sparsely around the floor. It makes you want to cry. No one had picked them up nor played with them in years. This shack that used to be filled with excitable voices had fallen too silent. The shack was just a corpse now, and there was no way that you could revive it. You pick up the rusted shovel and head to the back of the shack. The willow tree was naked, stripped of its leaves. It didn’t feel right. The shovel dents the dirt. You bite your lip and start to dig out the grave. It didn’t feel right doing this without Lola, Hugo, and Ah Lam. You couldn’t stop until you hit the metal of the box. You squat down, hands flayed out in front of you on the ground, as you peered down. The hole was about two feet deep, and you find that digging it up had been much easier than burying it. Perhaps it was because you had aged, gained more strength. You didn’t know and it didn’t matter. 

Tenderly! 

You pick up the metal box, and scrape away the dirt covering its surface. You turn the box around in your hand, admiring it, observing it. There are no signs of holes nor leakages in which you are grateful for. Gingerly, you lift the lid. You pick up the tea bag of Earl Grey and smell it. Your mother would always make you a cup of tea with a dash of honey and a hint of milk. You take a shallow breath as tears begin to prick the edges of your eyes. The next item is a wooden horse. You smile, a bit embarrassed for your child self. It was something your crush had randomly given you, and you had decided to make it immortal by keeping it in the capsule. You continue exploring each of the contents - a can ring, plastic jewelry, stickers - and you stall at the purple diary. Glitter falls off when you pick it up. You brush your fingers on the cover with the barest of touches. It was almost like you were afraid of contaminating such an old item with your fingerprints. You flip to the first page. It’s the same page of every diary ever - the reward page. This diary belongs to Winifred Forkley, if lost, please dial 001-xxx-xxx. The reward is an audience with Winifred herself, with a special invitation to her tea party. The book is full of doodles and writings and you laugh at the silly concerns mini-You had had. On one particular page, you had written about your school field trip to the city. One day, I’ll live there and get to eat all the chicken makhani and fried ice cream I want! I’ll buy a big house for all four of us to live in! You shut the book, and slip it into your bag. You put the rest of the contents back into the box and bury the time capsule back up. You wonder where they were at now. What they were doing. You think back on all the classmates you had, and you wonder what their life was like now. How had they grown up? What jobs did they have? You wanted to know, but you had far lost contact, and even if you hadn’t, it’d be strange to talk to them after so many years. You wondered how many of those classmates still remembered you. 

The trek down the mountain takes far less time than it had going up. You nearly slip a couple of times. You did not see any foxes nor bears nor deer. Maybe the animals too, had long abandoned this mountain. It was only the birds and the mushi now that stayed. One of those days, the baby budgerigars would take flight too. You wanted to fly away with them. If you were to spread out your arms, would yellow feathers blood from your skin and spiral down your arms? Would your nails lengthen into the claw of a predator? You scoff. Of course not. Science deemed that man was incapable of flight, and technology had yet to surpass the confines of the earth. 

You look younger, with your nose and cheeks painted red. With your blue jacket puffed out around you like a protective coat. You suddenly feel lonely. There is nothing but the sound of the passing wind in your ears as you make your descent down the cobblestone path. You imagined the blue silhouettes of Lola, Hugo, and Ah Lam bounce-walking next to you, laughing at a joke Lola had just made. Hugo would poke Ah Lam, and complain that she had such a poker face. Lola would playfully smack Hugo, and you and Ah Lam would share a secret giggle. If you were here with me now, all three of you, would things be any different? Am I just a shadow in the cage of your minds? You wipe away the string of tears and let out a frustrated sound. 

Time! Ah coveted time, always moving forward, and never back. You try to mimic time’s movements, but you cannot help but glance back at the mountain one last time. The song of the budgerigar is mournful. It is the song of a funeral. 

You shut the door behind you and settle into the white minivan. 

Enter me. 

“How was it?” 

You offer a queasy smile. “It was fine.” 

I don’t question the high pitch in your answer. I turn the key, and press down on the pedal. The engine roars. I tilt my head over to look at you. You are staring down at your lap, fiddling your fingers. I wonder what you are thinking about. I don’t ask. 

“Ready to go?” 

A quick nod. The wheels feel heavy - it has been awhile since I’d driven such a large car. It feels luggish in my hands, as I try to re-familiarize myself with his vehicle. The drive down the mountain is silent. It is just the whirring of engine, and the ticking of watch. A red bus drives past us. Inside it carries the shadows of mini-You and your mini-classmates. Mini-You smooshes her face against the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the you now, but your head is down, and you are fiddling with your fingers. 

“I always wonder what would have been.” 

“...”

“If I had stayed here, that is.” 

“Let’s dial the Winifred that stayed in alternative world 01012 and ask, shall we?”

“You bum.” 

“You whiny grasshopper.” 

“Grasshopper?” You frown at the odd appellation. “But really, Mio. Don’t you ever wonder what would happen if you had stayed in your home country too? What your life would have been like?”

“Your age is starting to show along with your memory, my dear.” I say, eyes focused on the road. I push down the left indicator. “We’ve had this conversation before, back when we were 17.” 

“When you were 17, you mean.” 

“Ah, 17. That was my prime, before I got 18 and old, you know. Then there was 16 - now those were the darkest of times and the lightest of times. The happiest of times, and the most cringeworthy of times.” I let out a chuckle. “Remember how you’d said that you’d be a farmer and pine over the motorcycle boy? And I’ll…” I pause. “...I’ll...well, I’d probably be tired of being a goody two shoes and become a delinquent troublemaker that picked on boys. I’d never know the luxury of entire house air-conditioning, pizza, and getting to meet you.” 

You crack a wicked grin. “You’d be lost without me. You know why?” 

“Why."

“Because...who'd have taught you unsolicited Mozart facts and written odd stories with you then? Who would have bestowed the most heavenly wisdom upon you then?” You waggle your eyebrows. Cadbury!

I grin. 

“Gosh, we were such angsty teenagers then, Mio.”

“Sometimes, you’d lament your sister’s shenanigans - pfft - the computer incident. And sometimes, you seemed bigger than life with all your bombastic arts. You’re right. I would have been so uncultured in the fics without you, and oh so sad without someone to carry my jokes.” 

“And you call me a sappy bum? 

“You the sappiest, my dude.”

I imagine there is light in your eyes, as there is light in your voice. The speed limit reads 45. I step down on my pedal. The scenery is all a green blur around us, and I wonder if you’re looking at the moving trees, or if you were thinking about something far beyond my comprehension. Far beyond my grasp of you. I am not a part of your past. I have not even taken up 25% of your life, but I hope that I will when that time comes. I want you to know that even if we are hundreds of miles apart, I’d still be there. Just a name on a screen, awaiting for your message. I enter the highway, and push the pedal faster. We drive too fast. We drive too fast, the billboards so big as we rush by them. Me and you and the entire world, always occupied, always busy. Sometimes we forget the taste of oxygen. I hope that you’ll remember to take care of yourself. 

“Hey, Mio?”

“Yea?” 

“I’m glad too.” 

“Hm.” 

“I’m glad that I met you too.” 

“Of course you are. How else were you…” I try to pinpoint a specific example of something that I taught you. Other than the weird jokes that only I am comfortable of sharing with you. “...able to learn all the cool contrivances of the world?” 

Boo, anticlimactic. 

Anticlimactic is fine. There’s still plenty of other chances to tell you all the things that I want to say. But right now, my mind is blank, glitching. And then I forget where we are heading to exactly. But that is fine too. I’ll take a little detour, and we can explore this village for a bit longer. We’re a bit older now, old enough to start building our own adventure from ground up. I hope you’ll enjoy the journey as much as I will, Winifred.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I know it doesn’t make sense at all bc what lil village is near a highway. But let’s ignore that plothole. It’s taken months for me to finish, because I stopped and never seemed to pick it back up. But now it’s finished so -poke-. Welcome to the future. Not in our world, perhaps in another AU where we meet in a dodgy pub or under a rainbow or in Hogwarts. I bet when we do, frogs will start falling out of the sky and I’ll grab a bucket and we can make a ...frog island?


End file.
